Monday, November 27, 2006
Guilty pleasures
I admit it: I'm a fan of British stadium rock. It's simple, repetitive and satisfying, aural comfort food that promises melody, harmony and high-voiced, melancholy singers.
Unkempt hair: check. Stubble: check. Torso-level photo, making rock stars appear taller than they are: check - Embrace in 2006
I wasn't always like this. I followed Britpop through its heyday of the mid-1990s. Pulp, Blur and Oasis were the cheeky, caustic lads who spat at the world, used its conventions but refused to be bound by them. I mourned Britpop's sudden end. The Coldplays and David Grays that replaced it were limp, flabbier cousins. Those bands that did survive, like The Manics, lost their drive.
But there were a few bands that crossed both eras and made the transition easier. Embrace was one of them. Their first album, The Good Will Out, came at the tail-end of the Britpop era but was gentler and more lush, presaging pop-emo with its mournful, heartfelt lyrics and strings accompaniment. To my surprise, I discovered I liked stadium rock. I bought 1998's Drawn From Memory in London and have fond memories of playing it on my discman as I wandered along Regent's Canal, gazing wistfully at the grey clouds hung low over the still water.
Flowing like molasses, apparently - The Manic's disappointing, reactionary Lifeblood
Since then I've become a fan of Ocean Colour Scene, Snow Patrol, Keane and other bands who may lack Britpop's snarl, but tap into the same reservoir of blunted expectations that British angst feeds on. Suddenly I appreciate harmony and wistfulness in my music, not just rapier wit. Maybe this is part of getting older, or maybe I'm revealing my roots - I grew up in a small town where the FM radio played lots of prog. I'm not saying this is good music, but it speaks to something deep within the soul: a desire to dignify everyday life, to give our humdrum emotional struggles world-historical significance. If that sounds like a big bowl of blancmange, you're well on your way to appreciating the joy of stadium rock.
Got to know your roots, son - Roger Dean, prog artist-in-residence
But as I grew to love the Brits putting the melo back in the drama, Embrace lost their edge. They tipped over from sincere to maudlin, putting out two forgettable discs of ballads and pub singalongs. I sang along, but more out of nostalgia for what they were than genuine enjoyment. Embrace were sleep-walking.
So I was overjoyed to find their latest disc, This New Day, is a welcome return to form. (Actually it was released last March, but I'm sure no one reads this blog for cutting-edge culture.) Lead singer Danny McNamara will never be Jarvis Cocker, but his voice has recovered its plaintiveness, and his perma-hurt tone lends itself well to impassioned numbers like Target and Exploding Machines. The arrangements are lush, layered and lacquered, and that's fine. Embrace tried to do small on 2001's If You've Never Been and last year's Out Of Nothing, and it doesn't work. Not everyone is good with subtlety, and sometimes a hammer works better than a paintbrush.
My, you do have a nice collection of leather jackets - Danny McNamara
Stadium-filling orchestral blow-outs are what Embrace does best, and I Can't Come Down and Celebrate put you in the 20th row, the lasers arcing across the stage and the smell of dry ice filling your nostrils. This New Day has started early for Embrace. I look forward to stadium rock reclaiming its heritage of prog pomposity and rawking out.
Unkempt hair: check. Stubble: check. Torso-level photo, making rock stars appear taller than they are: check - Embrace in 2006
I wasn't always like this. I followed Britpop through its heyday of the mid-1990s. Pulp, Blur and Oasis were the cheeky, caustic lads who spat at the world, used its conventions but refused to be bound by them. I mourned Britpop's sudden end. The Coldplays and David Grays that replaced it were limp, flabbier cousins. Those bands that did survive, like The Manics, lost their drive.
But there were a few bands that crossed both eras and made the transition easier. Embrace was one of them. Their first album, The Good Will Out, came at the tail-end of the Britpop era but was gentler and more lush, presaging pop-emo with its mournful, heartfelt lyrics and strings accompaniment. To my surprise, I discovered I liked stadium rock. I bought 1998's Drawn From Memory in London and have fond memories of playing it on my discman as I wandered along Regent's Canal, gazing wistfully at the grey clouds hung low over the still water.
Flowing like molasses, apparently - The Manic's disappointing, reactionary Lifeblood
Since then I've become a fan of Ocean Colour Scene, Snow Patrol, Keane and other bands who may lack Britpop's snarl, but tap into the same reservoir of blunted expectations that British angst feeds on. Suddenly I appreciate harmony and wistfulness in my music, not just rapier wit. Maybe this is part of getting older, or maybe I'm revealing my roots - I grew up in a small town where the FM radio played lots of prog. I'm not saying this is good music, but it speaks to something deep within the soul: a desire to dignify everyday life, to give our humdrum emotional struggles world-historical significance. If that sounds like a big bowl of blancmange, you're well on your way to appreciating the joy of stadium rock.
Got to know your roots, son - Roger Dean, prog artist-in-residence
But as I grew to love the Brits putting the melo back in the drama, Embrace lost their edge. They tipped over from sincere to maudlin, putting out two forgettable discs of ballads and pub singalongs. I sang along, but more out of nostalgia for what they were than genuine enjoyment. Embrace were sleep-walking.
So I was overjoyed to find their latest disc, This New Day, is a welcome return to form. (Actually it was released last March, but I'm sure no one reads this blog for cutting-edge culture.) Lead singer Danny McNamara will never be Jarvis Cocker, but his voice has recovered its plaintiveness, and his perma-hurt tone lends itself well to impassioned numbers like Target and Exploding Machines. The arrangements are lush, layered and lacquered, and that's fine. Embrace tried to do small on 2001's If You've Never Been and last year's Out Of Nothing, and it doesn't work. Not everyone is good with subtlety, and sometimes a hammer works better than a paintbrush.
My, you do have a nice collection of leather jackets - Danny McNamara
Stadium-filling orchestral blow-outs are what Embrace does best, and I Can't Come Down and Celebrate put you in the 20th row, the lasers arcing across the stage and the smell of dry ice filling your nostrils. This New Day has started early for Embrace. I look forward to stadium rock reclaiming its heritage of prog pomposity and rawking out.
